


Sleepless

by goldandsilver



Category: True Detective
Genre: 2012, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3838597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldandsilver/pseuds/goldandsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rust & Insomnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless

Some nights he lies wide awake, even the nights spent at Marty's, nights with Marty breathing peacefully besides him instead of tossing and turning around in a labyrinth where he needs to be dragged away or kissed awake.

 

Insomnia is a friend, visiting less frequently but welcomed all the same. His mind is a calm sea pitch black, rippled by various thoughts and memories, time and tides, stars and skies. Not afraid of drowning anymore.

 

The sweet lure of total darkness under fathomless sea is still there. He can look at it now, even contemplate it. He forgets why he told Marty "I'm more philosophic than ever ", only remembers Marty scoffed, saying "Dunno that, you surely talk about it less now".

 

 

The only life is life after death. Read this in a book.

 

 

He used to treasure pain and misery as diamonds on his own crown. Pain will accompany him through rest of his life. Misery is a vanity he can do without. Solitariness, though, he can not. He is no longer alone, yet situation like this is a necessary. A gift his trustworthy friend bears whenever she comes.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Marty looks most gentle when he looks plain sad. That's what he is thinking.

 

He remembers those rare moments 10, 15 years ago, when Marty’s face and body is not contorted by anger, confusion or contempt, not knitting brows together or biting bottom lip, he would get a glimpse of pure sadness. Smoothed every line of that being. Then his heart would pound a little. This expression almost never direct to anybody, usually cast aside, like Marty was ashamed of it. But once or twice, he got to be the receiving end.

 

Back in first several years, Marty would grow uncommonly quiet around the day his father died, not unlike himself around January 3rd. Two years into their partnership, Marty asked if he mind making a detour on the way back to CID. 30 minutes later, there they stood, several steps apart, before the Harts’ simple headstone, Mrs. Hart's dated back to 80s. BELOVED MOTHER. BELOVED FATHER.

 

He knew Marty is only son, grandparents also gone. There could be uncles and aunts but they must have drifted apart, cos they were never mentioned. Maggie had a big household, showed him photos of thanksgiving dinner. How funny, he thought, when all the families you associate with are families related to your wife.

 

He tried not to think about one graveyard he had not set foot upon in years, let mind wonder far north, though old man might very well moved already. Alive, but in nowhere. In a way, fathers cast similar shadows to their lives.

 

Marty crouched on grass for a long time. Didn’t talk, no anecdotes. Brought two fingers to lips then brushed the edge of headstone lightly, before straighten up and turned to him. There it was. Plain sadness. He couldn’t help but reached out, put one hand on Marty’s shoulder. For what, he wasn’t sure. Marty seemed to take this as a cue, just drew closer and hugged him. Face buried in his shirt. Hugged him, or rather, as he understood, ached to be hugged. So he did, briefly but firmly. Hand on shoulder sliding to nape, his fingertips threaded through very soft locks which usually cropped shorter behind ears (Marty kinda neglected haircut a bit recently). Strangely, fleeting images of baby Marty with golden hair clinging to a black nanny crossed his mind, like those often described in Southern literature, completed with white marble mansion and sky darkened by storm (Now he knows the Harts never hired no black nanny, Mom brought Marty up by herself in a moderate country house.)

 

Marty let out a muffled groan, quickly pulled away, blushing awfully, icy blue eyes rimmed red. Their eyes met, then a little smile appeared on the tip of Marty's mouth. Now he knows, he must smiled first himself, cos his smile always brings out this consequence. At that time, he didn't realize it. He just watched his partner smiled sadly. That was when he knew: Marty Hart was a lonely man.

 

Now he knows, that plain sadness is one of those things draws him, eventually leads him here. Here, in darkness, He patiently waits for the first thread of twilight grey to lighten the form in slumber beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> I picture them in a relationship but lives separately, though it is not mentioned explicitly here. Maybe less intimate than most post-2012 fics. Hope you don't mind &. feel free to leave feedback.


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